How to Say Goodbye
by friendlyneighborhoodfairy
Summary: When tragedy destroys Evergreen's family, she falls apart. Her team helps her hold all the pieces and find comfort in unlikely places.


_When tragedy destroys Evergreen's family, she falls apart. Her team helps her hold all the pieces and grieve._

**A/N:** For apriiil, who requested it over a year ago. Sorry it took so long! Prequel to **When He Wants To**.

* * *

**How to Say Goodbye**

_One week since the funeral._

Evergreen was trapped in indecision: whether to call Freed.

She'd done nothing but cry for the past week and a half. She'd been a misery to be around. Nobody knew how to react, so they sat awkwardly, and she could _feel_ their pity, but pity was useless. Pity didn't let her see Aspen again. The thing she wanted and could not have. Even while another part of her just wanted to forget.

She cried harder. She was not going to call. She wouldn't even be able to communicate like this.

Throwing the communication lacrima at the sofa, she marched into the kitchen. But once her march was done, she was empty again and the house was quiet and her ten seconds of purpose and rage had gone.

More tears.

Ever slid down to sit in front of the cabinets. It hurt—it hurt _so badly_.

She wanted to sit upstairs in their folks' home snickering together as their brother fought with their parents about politics. She wanted to sit in their childhood bedroom with the radio cranked all the way up and music deafening anyone who might dare to come see them goofy-dancing. Or get dressed up together, Aspen all cute and nervous, and go out to the Back Door, a bar serving both lesbians and straights. Or sit up later talking about it, about the people they'd dated, about whether they were lonely and what sorts of things they wanted for their lives.

Aspen always wanted to heal people. She'd picked up a bit of magic, back when they were kids and Evergreen was just dabbling too, but Aspen was more fascinated by technology and hands-on stuff. She'd studied under a woman to learn surgery. She worked at a hospital in Crocus and called Ever to tell her all the gory details of their latest emergency cases.

Used to work. Used to call.

Never again.

Sobbing, it took Ever so, so long to have the energy to stand; to walk across the flat; to fish the lacrima out of the sofa cushions.

* * *

When Freed and Evergreen hung up, Freed had a deep crease across his forehead. Before Laxus could ask, Freed tossed the lacrima at him, headed toward the kitchen, and called, "Contact Bickslow and tell him to come over—Ever's coming, I'm going to bake cookies and make sure we have things for dinner—oh, and I might need you to run out and grab a few things at the grocer; could you make up the guest room just in case?"

Laxus parsed the various requests and decided calling Bickslow came first.

"Bring stuff for dinner," Laxus added to him. "Freed says bread and some sort of vegetables. Your choices."

"Got it," Bickslow said.

Wandering into the kitchen, Laxus put his hands on Freed's waist while the latter opened the oven.

"Hey you," Freed said softly, sliding in a pan.

When he straightened, he leaned back and Laxus kissed his ear.

"I don't know anything about mourning," Laxus whispered.

Freed squeezed his hand. "Nobody does."

* * *

"Th-Thanks for letting me…" Evergreen motioned vaguely as Freed let her inside.

"Of course," he said. "Laxus is making dinner, and there's plenty to share. How does food sound?"

"Okay."

Her shoulders drew together, narrowing her thin silhouette.

"Want some cookies to start?" Freed asked gently.

"I just wanted some company," she said, trying to hide her sniff, following him obediently into the kitchen. "Didn't want to be alone, that's all. Hi, Laxus."

"Hey, Ever." Laxus gave her a kind smile.

Freed motioned her to a seat: she was doll-like, limp and small and confused. He sat next to her.

"What happened today?" he asked, leaning his head in his hand.

She shrugged, looking down at her nails.

After a second, the veneer cracked.

"I was really useless, mostly," she said, voice grating. She wasn't looking up, and Freed knew he couldn't rush in and offer comfort if she didn't want to admit she was crying, but he desperately wanted to. He wished to make everything better.

"You're not useless," Laxus chided from by the stove.

"I fucking sat around all day just thinking about—and lying there—" Her breath caught and Freed's arm shot out automatically, curling around her shoulders.

Ever sagged into his chest and then the tears started for real.

* * *

Bickslow let himself into Freed and Laxus's flat.

The first thing he could hear was Ever's voice, high and flighty, and then Freed's, too low to hear, the very sound of it soothing.

"Why does it _hurt?_" Ever shouted. "I just want to stop hurting!"

Bickslow entered the kitchen. On the bench, Ever sat squashed between Freed and Laxus, the latter wearing an apron, both of them with arms around her.

"I know," Freed said, "but I think the painful bits are the ways we get _through_ the pain. Remembering her hurts…because it's a good thing. Talking about her is what makes it better. It doesn't fix it, because nothing can fix it. But it means…you still get to cherish the memories."

Ever scraped at her eyes. "I just want her back."

"Yeah," Laxus said. "I know."

He leaned his head against hers and let Evergreen cry, while Bickslow tiptoed to the counter and unpacked the food he'd brought. Freed eventually came to help him, passing him a grateful smile.

Bickslow looked over at Ever and…

All the things he wanted to say were avoidance things. _Feel like a card game? Do you want cheese on your garlic bread? What do you feel like doing?_

* * *

Wiping her eyes, Ever observed the quiet preparations going on at the sideboard. When she sniffed, Bickslow nodded at her in greeting.

"What…" he paused, then soldiered on, "What was Aspen's favorite food?"

Ever sniff-snorted in surprise. And a little bit of humor at the answer, which then made her cry, and she tucked her face against Laxus's shoulder again until it calmed down.

"She, uh…"

Bickslow looked over, maybe surprised she was answering, but looking patient and interested.

"She would tell you it was something boring and healthy, like kimchi or sashimi or salad…but honest to goddess, she would die for fried chicken."

"Wait, Aspen?" Laxus laughed. "Doctor Aspen?"

"Oh, yeah. She hated people to know, but every Christmas…she could put away a whole bowl of thighs on her own. Rowan and I had to fight over the remainders or we wouldn't get any."

Freed slid a container of leftovers across the table. "In her honor."

"I don't think popcorn chicken counts, Freed," Laxus said.

"It's chicken. It's battered and fried."

"So are dumplings, but you don't call them fried chicken."

"I would," Bickslow piped up.

"Your definitions aren't a yardstick for anything, Bicks," Ever said, popping a cold piece of chicken in her mouth.

Bicks stuck his tongue out at her.

Something stuck in Ever's throat seeing him like that, remembering how Aspen always called him Giraffe Tongue. A jolting, painful laugh filled her and washed out of her, her teammates watching her in varying levels of concern.

"I…just…Giraffe Tongue," she said, pressing a hand to her throat.

Bickslow's gaze dropped to the floor, and for a minute her stomach fell, that familiar sensation that her pain was bringing others down and she just needed to shut up, snap out of it, curl up inside herself and shrivel away…

"I miss her," Bickslow murmured.

"We all do," Laxus said, glancing at Ever.

Someone came over and wrapped their arms around her while she cried—she couldn't tell if it were Freed or Bickslow, and it didn't matter. The warmth reached her heart and gently opened all the painful things there.

This was going to hurt.


End file.
